I put the phone aside and concentrated on my homework. There wasn’t much to review that I didn’t already know, so I finished before eight. I slid out of my school clothes and into some light cotton pajamas. Sprawled out in my bed, I played phone games, overcame a preggo hormonal surge by wanking myself stupid and then passed out. The early nights were becoming habitual, as were the mornings where I woke covered in sweat, my discarded pants lying in a heap on the floor beside my bed. Hormones had turned me into a furnace.

A shower to rinse my gross body, and it was back to the grindstone: dressed, breakfast, heart palpitations as I approached the school doors and trudging down the hall with my head high, eyes not meeting anyone else’s.

I was almost to my first class when I heard the voice.

“Hey, Mamacita! How you doing today?”

I turned toward the kid, blinking slowly, my hand gripping the nylon strap of my backpack so hard I thought I’d tear it off the main satchel. I didn’t even know his name. He was tall and handsome and wearing a Patriots’ Brady jersey, which immediately added to his pecker-head quotient. I was fine-ish with other players, but Brady was an insta-eyeroll.

“What’d you say?”

He glanced at two of his friends, grinned and shrugged. “Just saying hey.”

“No, you said mamacita. Why?”

He blinked at me. “It was a joke.”

“Oh? It’s funny? HAHA, sure, okay. Super funny. Are you Spanish? Latino?” I closed in on him, until I was less than a foot away, my head tilted back so I could look him right in the eye. His eyes were pinched at the corners, mouth flat, smile evaporating.

“Me? No. I’m Irish.” Again, he looked away from me, color rising in his cheeks. “It was just a joke.”

“Pointing out I’m pregnant and Hispanic is a joke? Wow. You’re a comedian. Super funny. Like, I nearly peed my pants.” I turned on my heel and stomped away, shaking my head. “I’m going to be laughing all the way to first period, whatever-your-name-is. You are one funny guy!”

He was braver now that I’d put distance between us, and called out, “You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.”

Which was promptly answered by Mr. Hayes, one of the chemistry teachers, shouting out “MICHAELS, GET IN HERE, NOW!” from the doorway of his classroom.

Bagged, asshole. Enjoy your detention.